Temptation
by CarawynO
Summary: A young rider of the Mark shows his quality. Placed second in the Teitho challenge "Honour." Contains mild reference to non-consensual adult relations, though not in any kind of detail and it does not actually occur.


September 12, 3018

She did not know what she'd asked of me. Not fully. And I have no intention of telling her.

She is the sister of the marshal I serve, a man I also consider a friend, and either point puts her strictly off limits. As I have reminded myself every time I have seen her for the last four years, since I first saw that the girl I had played with in Aldburg had become a beautiful young woman.

Even putting aside my friendship with Éomer, she is a lady, sister-daughter to the king himself. And I know well what I am; the youngest son of a simple rider, with nothing but my sword to my name. Even that sword is a hand-me-down from my grandfather.

It is impossible.

And yet it was she who suggested it!

The scene keeps replaying in my mind, over and over, and the tankards of ale I have consumed have not yet stopped it. I do not know how many times my mind has made me relive walking down that torch-lit hallway, and hearing a sound coming from a room that I knew should have been empty.

A part of me wishes I had kept going, and never stopped to investigate.

But I had stopped. And once I'd opened that door and saw her there I could no more have walked away than I could have run with the Mearas.

Terror filled her eyes as she looked up at me from where she sat in the darkest corner.

It made me want to pull her into my arms and make every vow I could think of that I would protect her. It made me wish for an orc to appear, so that I could slay it for her.

Or maybe even the dragon I had imagined fighting when merely a boy wielding a stick.

Instead I simply said her name, and stepped into the room so that the light from the hall behind me did not cast shadows over my face. She said my name with relief, and the sound of it was sweet to my ears.

Then she bade me close the door.

Lovesick fool that I am I did it, though I knew full well what would happen if I was found alone with her in a dark bedroom. Even a bedroom in a barracks occupied by a full éored, and so offering little true privacy.

I closed the door, and moved slowly towards her as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

I made my way across the room, and when I reached the wall I put my back to it and slid down until I sat on the floor with her. I pressed my shoulder against the battered wooden chest I knew would be pushed against the center of the wall, as a similar chest was place in every room in the barracks. This would ensure I kept space between us, and allowed me to fool myself into believing I was not a scoundrel for simply being in the room.

We sat in silence for some minutes before I dared to ask why I found her here alone rather than at the celebration Éomer had arranged to honor the date of her birth.

The sound of liquid being poured was the only answer I received.

A moment later she nudged my arm gently with a mug, offering it to me without speaking. I could smell the mead it held, and shook my head. I had already had a few tankards of ale while in the common room with my friends, and knew that I should not have more if I wished to keep my wits about me.

She gave a shrug when I declined, then brought the mug to her own lips and drank deep. Very deep. So deep that I grew concerned, for I had rarely seen her drink anything other than watered table ale.

I spoke her name softly, meaning to advise caution, but she cut me off, saying that she needed to forget, at least for a little while. Reminding her that the drink would not truly make her forget made her sigh, but she put the mug back on the floor beside her.

After a minute or two of silence I suggested that perhaps talking of what troubled her would help.

What was I thinking? Asking her to share her troubles, as if I was a friend. Or worse, a brother!

I let my head fall back against the wall with a soft thud, but she didn't seem to notice. When I glanced over at her from the corner of my eye I saw that she had pulled her knees up and rested her forehead against them.

Silence fell again for a long while, but to my amazement I heard her start to speak, her voice barely more than a whisper which I had to strain to hear.

She spoke of Gríma, and how he watched her from the shadows as she attended to her uncle.

The man is surely as old as the King himself, which makes him more than old enough to be her father! The thought of him looking at her in that way…

Then again, what right have I to criticize him? Do I not do the same? Following her with my eyes whenever she is near? Does my being the same age as her make my behavior acceptable while his is not?

When she said that his looks had turned to touches, and to him blocking her into dark corners of the hallways of Meduseld, a rage welled up in me.

This has gone beyond anything that an honorable man would do!

I asked the question that seemed obvious to me; why did she not tell her brother of this, or her cousin? Surely they would put a stop to it if they knew!

The answer she gave was that she could not, for if she did they would slay the worm, and so be guilty of treason in the eyes of the law, for slaying the king's chief counselor.

And thus subject to death themselves.

To be free of him she would have to sacrifice one she loved, and of course she would not think of doing such a thing.

Once again she picked up the mead, but this time I did not stop her from drinking. I now understood her desire to forget.

For a long moment, she sat quietly and held the mug in both hands, turning it absently as she looked into its depths without truly seeing it. Another long silence fell.

Eventually, she lifted the mug to her lips and took another deep drink before she spoke again. She said that he intended to have her as his wife, whether she wanted it or not.

I simply turned my head and stared at her, my mind unable to absorb this thought. She caught my eyes for a moment and gave a wry, twisted smile before dropping her gaze back to the mug as she took yet another long drink.

She said he had told her this as he held her caught in shadows earlier in the evening. On the date of her birth. A day she should have been able to celebrate.

Truly he is a worm, and worse.

When I asked how it would be possible for a counselor to force not only her hand, but that of the king, and of her brother, she laughed. Bitterly.

Apparently in his role as chief advisor to the king he had found an obscure and ancient law, one which stated that a woman found in a compromising position by two witnesses would be considered to be married to the man she had been found with, even without any vows being spoken.

In whispered words so quiet I barely heard them she murmured that she would never speak the vows of marriage to him, would never give herself to him, and he knew it well.

So he would take what he wanted from her.

Following her line of thought I realized that if Gríma had two of the men loyal to him hold her while he did it…

That thought… it made my heart stop.

This beautiful woman… so young, so full of life… forced. And forced to be the wife of… The thought was too appalling to complete.

I almost asked again why she did not talk to her brother, but I knew that she was right in thinking that there would be nothing in all the world that could restrain Éomer's hand if he knew.

She stood, slowly, and with one hand on the wall beside her, and then took a few unsteady steps to reach the window. Standing there in the silver light from the moon she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her, but so sorrowful.

Then the conversation turned in a direction it should never have gone. Would never have gone, surely, if she had not been drinking.

She spoke of how she had always done her duty to her uncle, whom she loved like a father. Had never done anything that might compromise her reputation. Had never danced with one man more times than the old women would consider proper. Had never kissed a man, let alone done anything more.

And that now she would never know the pleasure of being touched by a man who loved her.

I looked away from her when she spoke of preserving her reputation, and closed my eyes completely when she spoke of dancing. And when she spoke of kissing…

I tried to push the images forming in my mind away, images of doing any of these things with her, and more, but…

Bema help me, I am only a man!

Out of instinct I drew my knees up enough to press the soles of my boots against the floor, and dropped my head as I wrestled with myself.

The soft touch of her hand on my knee made me start like a colt to a shout. She had crossed over to kneel next to my feet, and I had not heard… Thirteen years I have been a rider and I let someone come so near without knowing it… Éomer would have my hide if he knew I'd been so careless.

But then, he would have my head if he knew anything of the situation I was in, trapped between her, the wall, and the chest.

I must have been staring at her like a startled deer. Her own eyes went wide, and she quickly dropped both her hand and her eyes to her lap. She twisted her fingers together in her skirts, as if nervous.

After a moment she looked up at me again, and asked quietly if I considered her a friend.

Her friend…

Well, what else can I be to her?

I answered that of course I thought of her as a friend, as I had from when we were children, and would until we were old and grey.

She gave me a very small smile before looked down at her hands again, and did not speak for another long moment. It gave me time to get my racing thoughts at least somewhat under my control again.

She said she knew I didn't love her in that way, but that I must at least care for her if I considered her a friend.

I didn't dare speak to answer her, for fear of what might come pouring out of my mouth.

I hardly dared to breathe.

For four years I had held my tongue on the words my heart wanted to say, and I remained determined not to fail now, even though she was clearly drunk and thus unlikely to remember in the morning.

I would remember, and I would never be able to look her or Éomer in the eye again.

Then she asked it.

She asked me if I could pretend that I did love her for just one night.

She asked me to take her to my bed and let her experience what could be between a man and a woman just once before being forced into an utterly repulsive marriage.

What evil have I done to deserve being tormented this way?

And how could I have known how bitter it would be to be offered a taste of what I so desired but could never have?

Even if I were to dare to touch her, I would know it to be false. Meaningless. And that I would only be using her, making me little better than the man she sought to escape.

As I struggled to form a reply to her she swayed, and then started to slump forward. I reached out and caught her before she fell, and she mumbled something incoherent.

The drink had gotten the better of her, and I was spared giving her an answer.

Sighing with relief, I offered a prayer of gratitude for this small mercy as I pulled my feet under me.

I took both her hands in mine and stood, pulling her up with me. Slowly I turned her around so that she faced into the room, and moved my arm to support her waist.

Together we moved towards the bed, step by cautious step in the dark,

When at last we reached it I helped her to sit on the edge of the mattress, then crouched down to slip off her soft shoes. This done, I urged her to lie down, and she complied with barely a murmur before she curled up like a child.

I went swiftly back to the chest on the floor, and opened it. As expected, I found a pillow and a blanket waiting within for the next man who would occupy the room. I pulled out both and brought them to her.

Her deep, regular breathing made it clear that he had already fallen asleep.

With a smile I draped the blanket gently over her, and carefully lifted her head to slip the pillow beneath it. She woke enough to pull the blanket close as she mumbled a few words that I could not make out, and then she succumbed to asleep again.

I almost kissed her forehead, a benediction, an assurance that for tonight at least she was safe, but in the end I did not dare to do even this. Instead I fled the room, pulling the door softly closed behind me.

The celebration continued in the common room, despite the absence of the guest of honor, and thankfully the ale still flowed freely.

Forgetting the advice I had given her, that drink never truly helps you forget anything, I drained one tankard in a single draught, then grabbed two more before heading to sit at the end of an unoccupied table.

I had to get the sight of her kneeling beside me out of my mind. The sound of her voice asking me to do what my body longed to do…

One tankard I emptied nearly as quickly as the first, and I was nearly through the second as well when someone placed a third by my elbow.

I looked up in surprise, and fortunately had enough wits left at my command to stifle my groan as Éomer sat down across from me, looking at me intently as he took a pull from his own drink.

"Woman troubles?" he asked.

Oh, Bema...

September 13, 3018

I did not feel steady enough to approach Éomer with my request until after noon the next day. He seemed to think me wise to ask to be allowed transfer to another éored, so I could see new parts of the Mark while I was still young and unmarried. He gave his approval, and together we went to speak to Théodred.

Éomer spoke highly of me to his cousin, praising my dependability and skills with the sword, and to my surprise Théodred invited me to fill an open position in his own company.

I rode out with my new company at dawn the following day without seeing her again.

And I preferred it that way.

March 24, 3019

I have marveled many times over these past few weeks at how quickly life can change.

My last memories of the battle were of seeing Théodred standing on the top of the knoll, fighting off the waves of orcs and uruk-hai that seemed to be singularly focused on reaching him in particular. I remember thinking that I had to get to him, had to save him, for I could not bear the thought of Éowyn's grief if he were to fall.

Then there was a sudden, sharp pain in my head, followed quickly by darkness.

When I regained my senses I was in a bad, a soft pillow behind my head. I tried to sit up, to see where I was, only to be stopped by small hands on my shoulders. Small, but still strong enough to push me back onto the pillows once again.

My eyes blinked open, and suddenly I was not certain that I was not still sleeping, for a vision was before me. I saw the outline of a woman, just a silhouette against the window behind her, her unbound hair forming a golden crown of light around her.

She urged me gently to rest, and her voice was soothing, pleasant, so what choice had I but to obey?

Darkness claimed me again as I sank back, but it was the wholesome darkness of sleep rather than of injury.

I woke again when the room was dim, though whether it was morning or evening I could not tell.

When I again tried to sit up my head spun with pain, and I must have groaned for she appeared through the door almost immediately, bearing a small lamp with her.

With a smile she again bade me to lie still for a moment, and she set the lamp on a table beside the bed while she crossed the small room to a chest placed in the corner.

I knew her voice, remembered it from when I had first woken. I tried to turn my head to see her, but even this smallest of motions brought a wave of pain.

Resting back once again, I closed my eyes and willed the pain to pass.

When she returned, she put her arm behind my shoulders and helped me to rise enough to put a second pillow behind me, and yet another behind my head.

Once settled again I opened my eyes and looked up into warm brown eyes the color of a fawn.

And I was lost.

That day I learned that her name is Fionyr, and that she is the daughter of one of the local tenants, a man whose farm bordered the Isen, and Dunland.

I also learned that it had been nearly two weeks since the battle on the eyot, and that while I had been seemingly awake many times during those weeks I had never fully gained awareness before succumbing to the darkness again.

She told me of the marauding orcs and Dunlendings who had burned their farmstead and those of many other families, and of their coming to the Berg for shelter.

Since she was used to being busy and working hard, she had volunteered to help the healers, by taking on basic tasks such as changing bandages and serving meals.

I had become her special care, and she had stayed by my side as often as she could, to be there with water and broth on the occasions I was aware enough to swallow them.

It was her soft voice that told me Théodred was dead, and that was grievous to me. But she also told me of Théoden being returned to health and vigor.

As the days passed, we talked together often. Not just when she came to change the bandage wrapped about my head but also in the evenings when she was free, and when she brought me my meals.

Once I was steady enough to feed myself again she began to bring her own meals as well, and she sat on the edge of my bed as we shared stories and learned more of each other.

She told me stories of growing up on a farm, of herding horses, and of her first disastrous attempts to learn to swim in the river.

I told her of life in a city, and in the éored, and how I received the scar in my eyebrow the first time I tried to ride my stallion.

The darkness and shadow that hung over us seemed to lessen when she was near.

Even when I was recovered enough to be allowed to take on duties again we still sought each other out for meals we could take in common, sitting side by side on a bench as we spoke of what we thought the future might bring.

Weeks passed, but a day came when the dark clouds were blown away in a fresh breeze. A lightness came to all in the keep, though it was another ten days before we heard that evil had been defeated.

When I saw her that evening her face was alight with happiness, and those brown eyes filled with joy when she saw me.

I was tempted to take her in my arms. To kiss her.

I do not think that she would have objected, but I found I could not. I would not dishonor her by doing so before I had spoken.

I have not yet told her that she has healed my heart as well as the cut on my head. Has made me realize that what I had thought was love before was mere infatuation.

She does not know all she has done for me. Not fully. Someday I will tell her, but not yet.

* * *

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a scene in AnnaFan's wonderful "Flower of Ice and Steel." and is borrowed with her permission. Many thanks go out to the ladies of the Garden of Ithilien for their feedback, and especially to Sian22 for her suggestions and support.


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